Tapping The Glass
by travln1
Summary: Cuddy fest entry lj . Prompt: "5 Nights That Cuddy Called House". Huddy. Wilson's Heart spoilers. Thanks to my betas: Chippers87 & Wrytingtyme.
1. Chapter 1

I know I haven't posted anything for "Ours" recently, but that's because I've been working on three fics for "cuddyfest" over at lj. This is the first story. Five parts total. I was also on vacation and couldn't get the internet to work properly from the hotel.

The prompt for this was: "Five nights Cuddy Called House"

Phone Call #1

"Pick up, dammit," Cuddy strummed her fingers on the kitchen counter. The phone rang again, and yet again, "I know you're home. Don't make me come over there," she thought out loud.

She hated to admit it, but she was worried about him; angry, but equally as worried. She knew he was struggling; she knew he missed his old team, though he would absolutely never admit it. She knew he was miserable. She knew he was playing mind games not only with his new batch of potential fellows, but with himself as well. He had created a new puzzle; perhaps the puzzle was simply to keep him busy, perhaps to occupy his thoughts with anything other than his true feelings or perhaps it was merely to piss her off. Children like puzzles. House had become even more childish than ever before and what worried her most was that this child was now playing stupid, stupid games with his own life, ludicrous, almost frivolous, thoughtless, asinine brushes and blatant near misses with his own mortality.

The machine picked up, "House," she paused, hoping he'd pick up, "House I know you're home. Pick up now or I'm coming over. Wilson gave me the key."

"I'm going to kill Wilson," a groggy voice on the other end of the line answered.

Cuddy sighed in relief, never so glad to hear him grouch, "You're alive."

"I was sleeping just fine until I was so rudely awakened. What do you want?"

She sighed, "House."

"You're going to ask, aren't you?"

"I have to."

"No, you don't," he said warningly.

"Yes, I do," she mimicked his tone.

"Don't."

"How are you?"

"Oh, you asked," he sighed.

"And you didn't answer."

"I don't need my attending calling me in the middle of the night."

"It's only ten o'clock and I'm not calling as your attending."

"So you're working for the hooker hotline now? I didn't know they made personalized collection calls."

"I'm calling as your friend, House." He sighed, but otherwise remained silent.

"Did you eat anything?"

"Some oncologist made sure to deliver a container of soup."

"Did you eat it?"

No reply on his end of the line.

"You didn't eat, did you?"

"It had vegetables in it,"

Cuddy rolled her eyes, "You checked out A.M.A. and left without so much as saying boo to me or Wilson, or anyone else for that matter. Your heart stopped for nearly a minute," she paused to catch her breath, "Stick a knife in a wall socket and check out of the hospital against my advice means I'm coming over this evening."

She waited for some kind of response. She didn't get one, "I'm coming over."

"Cuddy, no."

"Shut up. I'll be there in ten minutes."

* * *

He rolled his eyes when he heard her knock, "Use your key."

"Don't have one."

He muttered something under his breath as he achingly made his way to the front door, "You said Wilson gave you the key."

"I lied."

House raised his eyebrows, impressed, "You've seen me. I'm alive, now go home."

"Not so fast, sit," she commanded, guiding him towards the couch by his elbow.

House again rolled his eyes, "I'm fine. Did you bring any food?" he asked, trying to peek into the canvas bag still hanging from her shoulder.

She slapped his hand away, "Not until I check your vitals."

"You're worse than Wilson."

"When was he here?"

"About two hours ago. Do I smell sauerkraut?"

She placed her stethoscope into her ears, "Shhh."

Knowing she had food, House sat quietly for the exam, allowing her to check his pupil reflex, pulse, blood pressure and temperature without fighting her. Satisfied he would live, she placed her stethoscope back into the bag and pulled out a familiar looking paper sack from his favorite all night deli, the dive two blocks from PPTH.

"You didn't?" he asked with a genuine smile.

She noted his not oft seen grin and smiled inwardly, "I did."

"Mmph," was the only sound she heard as he bit down into the ruben sandwich, "Should, mmm, fank oo, mmm fur vis."

"Yes, you should thank me for this."

House continued to devour the sandwich, struggling a bit as he ate one handedly. He mumbled incoherently, apparently in complete and utter bliss, and Cuddy took that as thanks enough.

She shook her head noting his jeans and t-shirt, "You're not sleeping in that are you?" House shrugged his shoulders. She held out her hand, palm side up and motioned for him to show her his burned hand. He rolled his eyes and held out his arm.

"And you weren't actually going to spend the night on the couch?" Again, he shrugged.

Waiting for him to finish eating, Cuddy walked to his bedroom, pulled a pair of pajama pants and a worn t-shirt from one of the dresser drawers and made her way back out to the living room, placing both on the coffee table.

"I'm not leaving until you change and get into bed. Understood?"

Too tired to argue, he yawned and nodded, "Yes, mommy dearest."

Minutes later, Cuddy watched as House crawled into bed and she sat beside him, "Give me your hand."

"It's fine."

"GIVE me your hand," she said, more insistently. House finally gave in and Cuddy gently cleaned the burn with a cloth, applied ointment and wrapped his hand in gauze.

She lowered her voice, hoping he would allow her say what was on her mind, without demeaning it with a sarcastic retort or a sharp snark, "House," she held her breath, knowing he detected the oncoming sentiments, "Don't ever pull a stupid stunt like that again."

He looked at her quizzically, not quite understanding where this was coming from. Here was his boss, perched on the edge of his bed, mere hours after he nearly killed himself, all appearances of anger seemingly absent. She was…sad. House wasn't sure where this emotion was coming from or why she felt this way; she should be angry, not sad. Not for him. He fully expected the Cuddy who confronted him earlier that day; the Cuddy who was angered with his lack of concern for his own patient, the Cuddy who essentially told him off that very day. He watched her, searching her eyes for meaning and then he saw it. He saw the sincerity. She was worried not about the stunt, not about the hows or the whys, but rather the fact that he would be truly gone; not just gone from his job, but gone from her life.

He tried to brush off her sincerity, "Metal object in a light socket; I don't recommend it."

"I mean it, House," she inhaled deeply, holding her breath momentarily before releasing it, "I don't want to lose you."

And there it was, the concern he tried so hard to avoid, "I'm fine. I'm here to stare at the twins for years to come."

She shook her head, hopeless in wishing he could act human for once, "I told you I'm not here as your attending. I meant it," she struggled with the tears she had up until now, managed to keep at bay, "I can't watch you kill yourself."

He rolled his eyes, "_You_ didn't watch me kill myself, Amber did." House knew instantly his snark was too much. He had pushed too far, and there, sitting on the edge of his bed, Cuddy could no longer hold it in; tears fell from her eyes. He sighed, not knowing what to do. He knew how far he could push Wilson, even when Wilson was at his wits end. He underestimated how much Cuddy could take.

Frustrated and exhausted, she stood, "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Cuddy…"

"House, don't," she shook her head, unable to take anymore. She headed towards the bedroom door.

"Wait," he called out. She turned to look at him and he nodded solemnly.

"Promise me," she swiped at the tears on her face, "Promise me that I won't have to watch you die."

Again, he nodded.

"No, I want to hear you say it." She walked back over to his bedside, peering down at him, with her right hand on her hip.

Neither moved for a prolonged minute, each staring down the other, each refusing to look away. Just when she thought he wouldn't answer, she heard a whispered, "Promise."

She leaned down so that they were nearly nose to nose, "Don't you ever do that again. Do you hear me? How many times do I have to sit by your bedside, waiting for you to regain consciousness? You take days off my life each time, do you know that? We've known each other for how long now? Twenty odd years? Do you think I can just walk away unaffected?"

He said nothing, did nothing, not a blink, nor a sigh, he just stared back, somewhat confused by her sadness and the lack of true anger.

"I will not watch you kill yourself." Cuddy straightened up and walked swiftly towards the hallway.

He couldn't help himself, he had to throw one last retort, "But you'll always be there for your poor, beloved House."

"Don't count on it," she said as she closed the apartment door behind her.


	2. Chapter 2

Phone Call #2

House sat on the couch, television on mute, waiting for the answering machine to pick up. He imagined it would be Wilson, calling to check up on him once again; at least this time, he hadn't actually stopped by. Wilson had overreacted, as usual. He'd heard the lecture about risking his life yet again, but House overlooked Wilson's words for the most part, knowing he would be fine, knowing the blood wasn't tainted. Testing the blood had seemed like a perfectly reasonable solution to House, no big deal; the hospital didn't stock bad blood.

The machine picked up, his brief, gruff message sounded just before the beep and then he heard her. He shook his head, checked the clock and saw that it was nearly eleven. He shifted uncomfortably, feeling the pinch from the three biopsies earlier that day.

"House, pick up," he heard her pause, "I have Wilson's key."

"Sure you do," he said aloud.

"Answer the phone or I'm coming in. You've got thirty seconds."

"I'd like to see you try," his thoughts betrayed his words as he unconsciously glanced at the front door.

"I warned you." House smirked at her audacity. Did she really think he'd fall for that again? His smirk instantly vanished when the front door opened.

"I warned you," she said as she stepped inside.

"How did…"

"Wilson actually gave me the key this time," she smirked, snapping her cell phone shut.

He watched her stroll in, clad in a tight skirt and low cut blouse, her standard. He noted the sadness was once again present, though this time he distinctly detected a hint of anger, or was it frustration? Probably both. He sighed, fully expecting the impending lecture. He was somewhat taken aback at what she did say, or rather what she didn't.

"It was brought to my attention that you had a lung, kidney and liver biopsy today," she pursed her lips, "And a certain guilty fellow confessed that she administered the liver biopsy without a numbing agent while you were conscious." She set the canvas bag down on the coffee table with a sigh, "At least we know your biopsies came back normal. It's good to know your liver's okay. With the vicodin you know, I've wondered for a while now."

She stood from the couch, "Lie down, I want to check the puncture sites. Normally a triple biopsy would require observation at the least, if not an overnight stay."

He shook his head.

"Uh uh. You don't get to say no. Lie down." He did as she said, not fully understanding why he obeyed, but obey he did.

She checked the sites, re-bandaged them and again sat down beside him as he sat up, "They look clean. No infection. She should be fired."

"I get to decide who I fire and she's not fired. Not yet anyway. I could have told you I was fine. Doctor. Medical degree. Department head. Ring a bell?"

"Me. Here. Checking up on you. Again. Ring a bell?" House remained silent.

Cuddy reached into her bag, pulled out two individual pizzas and four beers. House looked at her in obvious confusion.

"I'm not going to lecture. Here," she shoved the double meat pizza into his hands and set two bottles of beer in front of him. She took her vegetarian pizza with soy cheese, set it on the table and before taking a single bite, she downed a beer.

House looked on in awe. Cuddy turned to look at him, smiled and held up her empty beer bottle, "You're falling behind, come on."

"You're allowing me to drink?"

"Like you wouldn't have had a scotch anyway; beer's not as bad as hard liquor. You're a grown adult and a doctor, you can decide for yourself."

"Why are you here?"

She looked at him, unsure of what to say. She popped the cap off her second bottle of beer, "Haven't figured that out yet."

"You're not going to ask?"

"Nope."

"You don't want to know?"

"I know Wilson already lectured you. "

"It wasn't tainted."

"It could have been."

House took a sip of his own beer, "How many days?"

She raised an eyebrow, shocked he had actually listened to her, "At least two."

"How many for the knife in the wall socket?"

"Two weeks."

"How can you count a non-event as two days?"

"Every second I worry about you, it adds up to the days taken off my life. I'm like the goldfish and you're like the stupid kid tapping on the fishbowl, each tap taking precious time away from the fish's life. As I figure it, you've taken one month and six days off of my life so far; keep it up and my lifespan will be as short as yours will be."

"You're no goldfish, not with the funbags, more like a mermaid. We could get you a shell bikini, put you in the bath tub and call you Ariel." he said, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

She gave up trying to get him to see how much stress he caused her, "Shut up and eat your pizza."

He watched as Cuddy's shoulders dropped just a bit; she no longer had the fire or the desire to argue with him. It was then that he understood. He finally realized that she was there as his friend, not his boss, not his conscience; he thought he saw a glimmer of perhaps something else there too. And he felt guilty. It was not a feeling he acknowledged often, usually pushing it down or tossing it aside with a snark or harsh reply, but for reasons unknown to him, he was unable to do that to her at that very moment.

"You're really not going to ask?"

"Nope."

"I'm fine, just a transfusion reaction."

"I know."

"You're not going to lecture?"

"Nope."

"Not about how stupid I've been?"

"Nope."

"Why not?"

"My pizza's getting cold and so is yours. Eat."

"You're going to blame the pizza going cold for not lecturing me?"

"Do you _want_ me to lecture you?"

Up until that moment, Cuddy had sat staring at her pizza box, not looking him in the eye. He had watched her, eyes never wavering from her face, searching, seeking her motivation.

"I'm not in a fishbowl, stop staring."

House opened his pizza box and stared hungrily down at the pepperoni, sausage and salami pizza, "I like mushrooms."

"I know."

"There aren't any."

She smiled, "I know."

House stared at her, and half smiled, "So this is how you're going to lecture me? By denying me mushrooms?"

"You don't have to eat it."

He took a large bite, "Maybe I won't," he mumbled.

Cuddy arched her neck to the left, than the right, trying to ease her tense muscles. House watched as she did so, "You should really find a less stressful job."

"I should really find less stressful employees."

"True."

They sat on the couch silently, watching a muted television program about medical emergencies. House's feet sat propped up on the coffee table on the far right side of the couch, Cuddy on the far left. She set the pizza box down and reached for the last of her beer.

"You gonna finish that?"

"No."

House snatched the last of her pizza and shoved a chunk into his mouth as she scrunched her face up in disgust at his pigishness.

"Ugh, what is on this thing? It tastes like cardboard."

"Soy cheese."

"A person could starve to death avoiding pizza like this."

"And yet you seem to be eating it just fine."

"It has mushrooms."

She smirked, "I know." Cuddy placed her hands on her neck, massaging the stress away.

"What's wrong with your neck?"

"A couple of knots named House won't give in."

He frowned, and placed his left hand on her neck, massaging it. She flinched and began to pull away, "Stop."

"You just said it has my name on it. Sit still, you've got a big knot right here." Cuddy leaned into his hand, wincing slightly with the painful knot, allowing his strong hand to knead the tension away.

A few minutes later he stopped, "Better?"

"Yes, thank you," she smiled up at him as he returned his attention to the still muted television. Not caring what he thought, she moved one cushion closer to him, placed her feet up on the end of the couch so that she sat slightly curled, and rested her head on his shoulder.

His body stiffened at her touch and he furrowed his brow as he glanced at the top of her head, "I'm not a pillow."

"Relax, I don't drool."

He remained tense, left arm across the back of the sofa as Cuddy nestled into his left side, her ear now resting over his heart. She could hear his heart beat faster and she grinned just a bit.

"Hey, easy. Biopsy, remember?"

"Stop complaining, I know you're enjoying this."

He peered down past her nose, into her low cut top and smiled, "I do have a great view."

She half laughed and slapped his good leg, "Don't ruin it."

He relaxed a bit, still not comfortable with her in his apartment, much less leaning on him. And yet there he sat, allowing her to invade his personal space. He couldn't admit to himself, much less to Cuddy, that her presence was comforting, even if her being there wasn't really warranted. House got the distinct feeling that she wasn't there for him so much as she was there for herself and that thought made him smile just a bit; he'd almost forgotten what it felt like to be needed. Ever so nonchalantly, he dropped his arm from the top of the couch to rest on her shoulder, using his thumb to massage small circles on her shoulder blade, under the guise that he was working out a knot. Cuddy couldn't help but smile again when she heard his heart slow to a normal, relaxed beat, knowing full well that she had no such knot in her shoulder.

* * *

"Hello?" Cuddy struggled with answering the phone in the pitch dark, "House, is that you?"

"I thought you said no touching at work."

"Huh?"

"One of the rules says no touching at work."

"What _rules_?"

"The rules you're going to create when we started dating in secret."

"My, you do have lofty aspirations, don't you?"

"We both know you're hot for me. You touched my clavicle during your little speech today."

"So, naturally that means I want you."

House couldn't repress a wry smile, "Wilson told me what you said to him."

Cuddy sighed, "I didn't confront him about Amber because you asked me to sleep with Wilson."

"A chalk outline; that was impressive."

"It was a little too harsh, wasn't it?"

"No. I don't call her Cutthroat Bitch for nothing."

"I'm not going to sleep with Wilson."

"Never expected you to."

"And yet, you asked."

"Like you would have slept with him; even you aren't that desperate."

"Are you...," she paused briefly, "Are you trying to ask me something, House?"

There was silence on his end of the line.

"Afraid I might say yes?"

"Fine, go sleep with Wilson. I'll be sure to tell him about your obsession with leather and handcuffs."

"Feathers, actually; wouldn't want you to put out false information." She heard him choke back a chuckle, "Goodnight House."


	3. Chapter 3

Phone Call #3

"What?"

"Is that how you always answer the phone?"

"It is when I've spent the better part of my evening cleaning up poopy sheets."

Cuddy paused, unable to wipe the sweet smile of revenge from her face, "I'm coming over."

"I haven't been electrocuted, no blood transfusions, no infarction, no gun shots, not even a cold; nothing for you to worry yourself over."

"There's always your mental health."

"The assignment of poop duty made your right to bug me in person null and void."

"I heard you had a very nice patient."

"It was all in his mind."

"Because of course, people can't naturally just be nice."

"I'm nice."

"Only when you want something."

"You thought I was nice the other night, and the night before that."

She was glad he couldn't see her blush through the phone line, "Two nights out of how many?"

"Three if you count the time, you know, before. Hey, I have my moments."

"You do, too bad they're few and far between."

"Bring ice cream."

"Like I said, few and far between."

"Cookie dough."

"You are such a child, do you know that?" she said with a mocked sigh.

"Yeah, but you love me anyway."

"In your dreams."

"No, in yours."

* * *

"What kind did you get?" House stuffed a huge bite of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream into his mouth.

"You wouldn't like it."

He leaned over and jabbed his spoon into her ice cream, and greedily gobbled down a mouthful. His eyebrows furrowed and he pinched his eyes shut, "What is that stuff?"

"I told you you wouldn't like it. It's soy ice cream, mint chocolate chip."

"Tastes like toothpaste. I suppose it's organic too."

Cuddy whipped her spoon in the air and aimed for his tub of chocolate chip cookie dough and House fought her off momentarily in a spoon sword fight, "Keep your spoon to yourself," he said, defending his ice cream.

"I paid for it."

"You don't eat dairy."

"I do if I want to."

"You just want it because I stole a bite of yours."

"I want to know what it tastes like," Cuddy managed to dip her spoon into his ice cream, but before she was able to get a taste of it, he grabbed her spoon and shoved it into his mouth.

"Hey, I wanted to taste that."

"You want a taste?"

"I just said I wan…," she couldn't finish her thought, because at that moment, House reached his hand behind her neck and pulled her in for a deep kiss. She pulled back at first but almost instantly leaned into the kiss, tasting the cookie dough on his breath.

"Mmm," she managed with lips locked.

He pulled away, "Here," he said, passing the cookie dough to her, "I can't stand the taste of that minty stuff."

She smiled as she stretched her legs out on the couch, again leaning against him with her head on his shoulder. He no longer tensed when she did this, though it always took him a few minutes before he fully relaxed. It had become almost routine. Initially, she started visiting on nights she knew Wilson was wining and dining Amber, but as with all things House, things became complicated quickly.

"Does Wilson know yet?" she asked.

House shifted uncomfortably, thinking back to the conversation from earlier that afternoon…

_Wilson paused on his way to pick up his bowling shoes, and turned to look at House, "So, we don't need to talk about…?"_

"No."

"You're going to keep screwing…."

"Yeah, and you're going to keep talking about it. We are who we are."

House brought his focus back to the present, "Yes. I even mentioned it to my team but they brushed me off."

"You told your team? We agreed not to say anything to anyone except Wilson."

"I told them I was doing my taxes and you."

She rolled her eyes, "So they thought you were joking."

"Yep."

"And is there anything else you'd like to tell me?"

House pursed his lips, and shoved another spoonful of ice cream into his mouth, "Wah or oo calking abut?"

"You eat like a pig. Seems a syphilis test was performed for one Greg House, with positive test results," she paused to look up at him, "Do I need to get tested?"

He sighed just a bit, wondering how on earth she had found out, "No."

"So I don't need to worry about you?"

"Do you ever?"

"Every day of my life. I'm always here, House."

"You said not to count on it."

She refused to look at him but he could see the dejected look in her eyes, "I'm here, even though I tested myself for syphilis because of you."

"Let me guess, two days?"

"Bringing the grand total to one month and eight days."

"I'll try not to tap on the glass anymore," he whispered.

She looked at him disbelievingly, "I'm not holding my breath."

They sat silently for nearly an entire episode of Prescription Passion that House had seen at least twice before, eating out of the same ice cream container.

Cuddy finally broke the silence, "Afghani prostitute?"

"I was going for the shock value."

"I think you got that. Amber looked appalled."

House grinned broadly, "Goal achieved."

"At my expense."

"Hazards of reading my review in front of an audience."

"You deserved it."

"Wilson will tell her about us eventually, you know."

"I know." She placed her hand on her stomach, "Ugh, I hate cookie dough. I hope I didn't eat that for nothing."

House lifted her chin towards his, "Wouldn't want to waste perfectly good ice cream," he said, planting a kiss firmly on her mouth, "Mmm, sweet sauce."

* * *

_"You should have been fired."_

"I'm taking back the T.V."

"I saved his life."

"That wasn't the deal."

"The contract clearly stated no taksie backsies."

"Goodnight House."

"Goodnight Cuddy."

She rested her head in her hand, her elbow perched on a pillow, as she stared towards the hallway. She knew he'd come, and twenty minutes later, she heard the front door open.

When he appeared in the doorway, she said, "You are so predictable."

"You wouldn't tell me what you were wearing."

"I can't believe you used our safe word at work and with an inspector!"

"I wanted the T.V."

"You're lucky it was an allergy."

"You should have walked out and called security like I told you to."

"You would have been fired if I had."

"And you nearly were fired because you didn't."

She sighed, "Come here."

House sat on the edge of the bed, pulled his shoes off and laid down beside her, "You should have stopped me."

Cuddy stretched her hand across his chest as she inched closer to him. He settled his arm behind her head and she nodded, "I know."


	4. Chapter 4

Phone Call #4

Cuddy knew it was pointless to call him so soon after leaving his apartment and yet, there she was, waiting for him to pick up the phone. She wondered if he'd pick up; he'd been especially distant as of late, barely speaking to her and certainly not speaking to Wilson. He hadn't said much to Cameron or Chase when they stopped by for a visit the other day, and that was before he lashed out at her.

It had been a month since the crash. They didn't refer to it as an accident, not verbally anyway. An accident would have absolved both House and Wilson of any wrongdoing, though neither felt very innocent. House blamed himself for her death and Wilson for his seizure. Wilson blamed House for her death too, the hospital for being on call that night and himself for nearly killing House.

At first, Cuddy thought House might allow her to help him through it, to pick up where they had left off. She did everything in her power to take care of him, and in the beginning, he seemed to accept her presence.

_"This one must have been worth at least a month," he said, shifting uncomfortably in the hospital bed._

Cuddy smiled sadly, "More like a year. You tapped on the fishbowl with enough force that you nearly shattered the glass." He allowed her to kiss him on the forehead, not flinching or balking at such a public display off affection.

"I didn't mean for this…for her to….for him…," House closed his eyes, the gravity of it all sinking in, "How is he?" She shook her head, tears forming in her eyes.

He didn't say much the rest of that day and he'd said progressively less in the weeks that followed. House spent the better part of a week in hospital, another week at Cuddy's with an unnecessary nurse (according to House) while Cuddy worked, and another week back in his own apartment with the same nurse during the day. Cuddy would return to his apartment in the evenings to take over his care, and some nights they shared the same bed, other nights she'd sleep on the couch. For the past week, House had been home alone, sans nurse, during the day while she continued to spend her nights at his place.

Day by day things slowly began to unravel. It started with the small things, his annoyance with the nurse in the beginning, the inability to find his pills, or his feeling of being constantly watched. Cuddy reassured him that she was there only out of love, not pity, but he didn't seem to acknowledge her words. Eventually his aggravation morphed into anger, particularly when she took his keys away, explaining that state law prohibited him from driving given his severe head injury. She neglected to tell him that she would have taken the keys away, state law or not, for his own good. He'd tried to swipe them from her purse one evening, and it was then that she took them to her own house, storing them in an empty jar under the bathroom sink.

His anger finally culminated in an angry tirade late that Friday evening, essentially pushing her out of his life, for what she hoped was only a temporary break.

_"Get out! Just get out!"_

"House, don't do this. Don't push me away, not now. We'll get through this. I'm always here for you, no matter what."

"Just like the night of the crash when you were supposed to meet me at that bar? Where were you then?"

"I couldn't get away from work, you know that; if I could have met you at that bar, I would have. I would give absolutely anything to have been at that bar that night."

"You may always be there for me, but I won't be there for you. I can't," he watched as her eyes filled with tears and he allowed his anger at Amber for being stupid enough to follow him onto the bus, and at Wilson for asking him for the greatest act of friendship imaginable and then disappearing in its aftermath, and at Cuddy for loving him, to bubble up and spill over, flooding her proverbial fishbowl, "I can't love you. Just leave."

His last words were spat with ice cold venom, sending her reeling from shock. Wordlessly, she backed up from him and silently left him to his misery.

She sat, trembling at the memory of all that had transpired in the past hour and waited for House to answer his phone.

He picked up on the sixth ring and gruffly said, "Leave means leave; no visits, no phone calls."

"Please, don't do anything stupid. You promised me."

"Don't worry, I'll be sure to die conveniently far from your pathetic gaze."

"House," was all she could manage through her tears.

He maintained his demeanor, forcing himself not to break down, forcing himself to push her away, convincing himself it was for her own good, "Don't call here again. My resignation will be on your desk come Monday."

Cuddy hung up the phone, curled up on top of her bed, and did everything in her power to keep the bile from rising up in her throat.


	5. Chapter 5

Phone Call #5

She forced herself not to call him the next day, choosing instead to focus her energies on work that needed to be done around the house; she painted the guest room, a task she'd put off for far too long. She could have paid someone to do it, but Cuddy decided early Saturday morning that the work would be therapeutic, so she did it herself and she had to admit, as she stood back to admire the first coat of paint, that she enjoyed the process. Exhausted after applying a base coat and one coat of a muted tan, Cuddy settled in for a quick lunch of tomatoes, cucumbers and a handful of multigrain crackers.

After lunch, she drove to the garden supply store to pick up several containers of colorful annuals to line her front walkway. Though she resigned herself to keep from calling him, she made sure she had her cell phone with her, just in case he unexpectedly came to his senses. Arriving back home mid afternoon, she set to work planting the new flowers, enjoying the methodical process of scratching at the dirt and impregnating the ground with the flowers that would bloom for most of the summer.

It was late afternoon by the time she was done, and she glanced at both the cell phone and the house phone that lie perched on the protective drop cloth in the empty guest bedroom. Going against every ounce of reason, she willed herself not to call House, instead starting on the final coat of paint; she allowed her mind to go blank as she rhythmically painted the walls well past sunset. When she was finished, she peeled the tape from the windows and floorboards, balled up the plastic drop cloth that covered the precious hardwood floors and retreated to a long, hot bath to ease her sore muscles.

Cuddy stared at the glass light fixture she had removed from the guest room ceiling, which now sat on the kitchen table, waiting to be returned to its rightful place. She sipped at her soup, not really interested in eating and glanced at the clock. She was surprised to see it was well past eleven o'clock and she couldn't help but wonder if House had eaten dinner, or if he had chosen to drink himself to sleep that evening. Exhausted, she cleaned her dishes and picked up the light fixture, intent on seeing the newly painted room look compete; she had planned on finishing the room the following day, but Cuddy couldn't wait to see the room looking like she'd imagined for well over a year.

She yawned as she glanced around the guest room, pleased with the shade of paint. She pushed the dresser back into the room and replaced the drawers one by one. Next came the nightstand, the desk and chair and finally, she removed the plastic cover from the full sized bed and pushed it from the middle of the room so that the headboard was flush against the largest wall. Cuddy then plugged in the small clock and set it according to her watch, almost doing a double take at the time. One thirty in the morning and there she was, moving furniture. Greg House made her do some odd things, she decided.

She placed the new sheets and comforter on the bed, hung the new curtains and finally picked up the very last item that would complete the room. Standing on the desk chair in the center of the room, and grasping the phillips head screwdriver in one hand and the light fixture in the other, Cuddy stepped up onto the desk chair. With both hands overhead, she struggled trying to fix the first screw in place; it certainly seemed a great deal easier to take down the light fixture than it was to put it back up.

"Come on," she said in frustration, her arms now shaking from exhaustion.

She leaned just a bit further, trying to angle the screwdriver a bit better when her foot slipped. The screwdriver went flying first, landing near the closet. Cuddy came crashing down as the chair tipped out from under her, and with her left hand flailing, she inadvertently smashed the light fixture, sending shards of glass flying. In the blink of an eye, she found herself crumpled on the floor and felt a fast rising lump just above her right temple.

Stunned, Cuddy sat perfectly still, unsure if she could or should move. She reached for the nightstand, hoping she had enough strength to reach the phone. Cuddy very shakily picked up her cell phone, hoping he would answer.

The phone rang several times, and just as Cuddy prepared to leave a message, he picked up, "I thought I told you not to call me anymore. It's," he paused, "It's two a.m."

Cuddy did her best to stay conscious, "House, I…"

His anger mounted, "I TOLD you. Leave. Me. Alone."

Cuddy took several deep breaths, trying to stay conscious, "House, I…"

And with dawning realization, his tone eased, "Cuddy?"

"I," she rasped, "Fell."

"Where are you?"

"Hit my head."

"Where are you?" he asked more insistently.

"Home," she fought to stay conscious, "I know you said you wouldn't be there, but…"

House tried to keep her talking, "Cuddy? CUDDY?" House shouted into the phone, "Stay with me." His words haunted him as he recalled saying the very same not all that long ago and in that instant, he decided that he'd be damned if he'd let her die too.

He scrambled for his keys and slammed his fist down in anger on the kitchen counter top, realizing that the keys to both his car and his motorcycle were at her place. House searched his wallet and pockets for cash and swore at what he found; six dollars and thirty two cents wouldn't be nearly enough for a cab. He wondered who he should call. Chase and Cameron were at the hospital, working the same shift. He couldn't call his team. Hadley had quit, Foreman was at a neurology conference in Florida and both Taub and Kutner had taken two weeks' vacation in House's absence; they weren't set to return until mid week.

"Cuddy, name all the carpal bones for me," he said, trying to keep her conscious.

"Some Lovers Try Positions That They Can't Handle."

House chuckled at the mnemonic device, "Okay, start listing them."

Cuddy fought to keep her eyes open, "Scaphoid."

"Good," House said as he searched for the house phone.

He pursed his lips, not wanting to call his former best friend. House sighed, hoping that Wilson's friendship with Cuddy was strong enough to put up with a short ride to the hospital with the man who killed his girlfriend. He used the house phone to dial Wilson, simultaneously setting his cell phone to speaker, to listen for Cuddy.

He knew not to expect an answer and was not surprised when the machine picked up, "Wilson," House paused, hating the audible tension in his voice, "Pick up."

He waited. Nothing on Wilson's end, though he did hear Cuddy say, "Lunate."

"What's next?" he asked her.

Setting the cell phone back down, he focused on Wilson, "Pick up dammit!" House was now very much aware of the desperate note of anger in his voice that he couldn't seem to control.

"I know you hate me right now, but I need a ride. Cuddy's nearly unconscious and alone, something about a fall," he tried to be concise, and he tried to explain why he needed the ride, though he wasn't sure if he was making himself absolutely clear, "She took my keys."

He paused again, hoping, waiting. Nothing.

Angry, he shouted, "Fine. I'll take the damned bus." He slammed the receiver down and headed towards his bedroom to change out of his pajamas.

"Cuddy? What's next?"

"Can't keep my eyes open," Cuddy said just above a whisper.

"Hey, come on now. What's next? Even you know this stuff. Scaphoid, lunate, tri..."

"Triquetrium."

"Good, keep going."

He threw on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, grabbed his vicodin bottle and pulled an old, leather medical bag from the closet.

"Cuddy, come on. What's next? Triquetrium, then what?"

House then grabbed his leather jacket, his wallet and his cell phone, pocketed the six dollars and limped out the door. He descended the stairs outside his apartment and looked up at the sound of tires screeching to a halt in front of him.

The passenger side window rolled down and Wilson called out, "Get in."

House stood motionless for a fraction of a second, surprised to see him there and then as if it was something he did every day, he tossed the cane into the front seat and took his position, shotgun.

"Cuddy?" he half shouted into the cell phone.

He thought twice about looking directly at Wilson, but curiosity got the better of him, chanced a glance and was surprised at what he saw. Wilson was soaked to the bone; his hair was sopping wet and his clothes clung to his skin, damp with moisture.

"You're all wet."

Wilson raised an eyebrow, but kept his eyes on the road, "I see your head injury hasn't affected your observation skills."

"Cuddy?" he shouted again. House looked at Wilson, "It's been nearly five minutes since she said anything. Give me your cell, I'm calling an ambulance."

"House, we'll get there before the ambulance can be dispatched. Keep trying."

House faced forward, trusting his friend's words. "You came."

Wilson hesitated as he pulled up to a stoplight and then glanced at House. He sighed deeply, "Don't I always?"

House met his gaze, pausing momentarily as he thought about the past month, and very honestly answered, "No."

Wilson nodded guiltily, "I'm here now."

"Cuddy? Come on, triquetrium, then comes pisi..." Again, no answer. House turned his attention to Wilson, "You didn't answer the phone."

"Apparently your observation skills are still intact, but your deductive reasoning skills took a hit," Wilson deadpanned. "I was in the shower when you called."

"At two in the morning?"

"I was on call; hazards of being an oncologist. Projectile vomit warrants a shower regardless of the hour."

House scrunched his face up in disgust and nodded.

"What happened to her?"

"Something about a fall. She called me and passed out. That's all I know."

"Cuddy?" House called out again.

The two sat in silence for several minutes, neither sure of what to say to the other.

Wilson finally broke the silence, "Are you two, you know, still together?"

House looked over at Wilson and shrugged. He lowered his voice, unsure of the true answer, "Does it matter?"

Wilson looked back at his friend, "No, I guess not."

House leaned his elbow against the window and rested his forehead in his hand, pressing at his temples.

Wilson looked over to House, "She'll be okay."

House looked at Wilson and nodded and the pair of them suddenly looked down at his cell phone, "House?" Cuddy whispered.

"I'm on my way. What were you listing before you blacked out?"

"Carpal bones. I was on pisiform. You can't drive here."

"I'm not. How bad are the lacerations?"

"Not bad. How did you…?" She sounded confused, "I have your car keys."

"House glanced at Wilson briefly, "My trusty chauffeur picked me up."

She didn't respond.

"Cuddy?" House asked.

Cuddy tried to gather her thoughts, fighting to stay conscious, "Wilson?"

"I'm here," Wilson smiled, "We'll be there in two minutes. How badly are you hurt?"

She sighed, "Hit my head and…," again, silence on her end of the line.

"Cuddy? And what?" House asked.

"My hand needs stitches."

"Hang in there," Wilson said reassuringly. He looked to House as he said it, hoping his words comforted not only Cuddy, but House as well.

* * *

Wilson pulled into the driveway and before he could shut the engine off, House was halfway to the front door. As he entered her home, House called out Cuddy's name several times, stopping briefly to listen. Hearing a faint voice from the end of the hallway, he limped as quickly as he could towards the guest room.

"You're here," she whispered, relief flooding her eyes when he appeared at the doorway.

House shook his head as made his way to her side, "If you really wanted to see me, you didn't have to knock yourself unconscious to get my attention. Showing up at my apartment topless, would have worked just fine."

Cuddy squeezed his hand faintly, "I'll try to remember that next time." House ran a brief neurological exam, checking her pupil reflexes first.

Wilson appeared at the doorway, "Why didn't you call an ambulance?"

"I thought…," Cuddy placed her hand to her head, grimacing, "I was okay."

Wilson walked around House, and kneeled down on the opposite side of Cuddy, and examined her hand. House examined a small laceration just below her neck and above her right breast.

Wilson looked at House, "This needs to be flushed and sutured. How bad is that one?"

"It's superficial, but it should be stitched."

Wilson stood, "Think you can stand?"

She nodded, "I think so."

House and Wilson stood on either side of her, helping her to stand, each supporting as much of her weight as possible. Cuddy gripped House's arm tightly with her good hand, feeling somewhat lightheaded.

"Don't pass out on me," House said, as the two men helped her to her bedroom.

"I'm trying not to."

Wilson eyed the bump on her head, "We should get a CT scan."

"No, I'm fine."

They helped her to the bed and House picked up her injured hand as Cuddy held her breath. Examining it, he said, "We can't stitch this here, it needs to be irrigated and I don't have the tools I need." House looked up at Wilson and hoped he would use his super oncologist powers to read his mind.

Wilson looked at the wound, knowing House had everything he needed in the bag he had brought. He looked at his friend briefly and turned to Cuddy saying, "House is right and if we're going to be there anyway, we may as well run a CT scan." House nodded in approval.

Cuddy looked back and forth between the two men and sighed, "Fine time for you two to make up."

* * *

House cleaned and sutured Cuddy's wounds as Wilson ensured Cuddy's double room remained a private one. House said nothing as he worked on her hand, instead focusing on small, precise stitches and Cuddy was content to let him work.

When he placed the last stitch in the gash on her chest, he nodded, "Looks like you'll live."

"You do nice work," Cuddy said appreciatively as she looked up at him, "But you missed a spot."

House furrowed his brow, "Where?"

Cuddy pointed towards her mouth with a smile, "Here."

A corner of his mouth turned up, "And I'm supposed to kiss it better?"

She nodded, "That thought did cross my mind."

House sported a wry smile, "I like it when you're hopped up on drugs." He glanced up at the glass wall somewhat self-consciously and then leaned down and very tenderly, kissed her.

When he pulled back, she looked up at him, "You're forgiven."

Saying nothing, he smiled a bit sheepishly as his snarky comeback faded before it reached his tongue.

"Wilson's here for you."

"Because of you."

"No, he's here because you needed him."

"He's here on a guilt trip."

Cuddy rolled her eyes, "You don't believe that. He's here because he's your friend." House remained quiet.

She squeezed his hand and both turned at the sound of Wilson's voice, "Hey," he said from the doorway.

She cocked an eyebrow, "Let's go. We can do the CT on Monday. I'm fine."

"Four car pile up trumps stupid administrators who bump their heads; sleep until the CT's available, you're not going anywhere," House said as he sat on the edge of her bed.

"But…"

Wilson yawned, "It's four in the morning; House can't drive and I'm too tired. Get some sleep."

"And what about the two of you?"

Wilson looked over at House, "We need to talk."

* * *

Wilson handed a cup of coffee to House and the two sat silently in the cafeteria for nearly twenty minutes; despite the month long rift and previous avoidance between the two, each felt oddly at ease.

House finally looked up, watching as Wilson mindlessly swirled the remnants of his coffee with a stir stick and asked, "Why?"

Wilson stopped stirring and sat motionless, weighing his words carefully, "Life is too damned short."

"And you just decided this now? It took this?"

"We weren't exactly talking."

"Well, let's see. I seem to recall being unable to speak because I was in a COMA."

Wilson dropped his gaze guiltily, "I know."

"You're better off."

"What?" Looking up from his coffee, Wilson furrowed his brow, "How can you say that? Amber and I had a good…"

"Not talking about her."

Wilson looked at him quizzically, "You think I'm better off without you."

"Ding, ding, ding. We have a winner."

Wilson's eyes were suddenly moist, though no tears fell, "I need you to do something for me. I need you to forgive me."

House could hear the blood rushing through his ears, the pounding audible with each heartbeat. He had no idea how this man, this best friend of a man, could sit there with such a calm demeanor. House just shook his head in disbelief.

Wilson observed House, and what he feared most suddenly appeared to be happening. He watched House shake his head and Wilson's heart dropped, "I understand if you can't forgive me."

House placed his elbows on the table between them and rested his face in his hands, rubbing at his eyes and continuing to shake his head, he said, "Stop." Wilson's hand rubbed at his own neck, trying to ease the knot that had seemingly formed instantly.

"You're a masochist, you know that?"

Wilson's head shot up, having heard the unmistakable, almost playful sarcasm in House's voice.

"I killed your girlfriend and here you are, begging for my forgiveness."

"I nearly killed you and then left you to rot. Who's the masochist here? You willingly got into my car, assuming I had only good intentions and if you'll recall, seems I've dosed your coffee before. You didn't even look twice at that cup."

This time, House's head shot up to meet Wilson's gaze, "What did you put in my coffee?" he asked, somewhat alarmed.

Wilson cocked an eyebrow and smiled, "Sugar." House sat back in his chair and half chuckled in relief while shaking his head.

Wilson downed the last of his cold coffee, "I've missed this."

"What, torturing me?"

Wilson smiled sadly, "You."

The two sat silently for several minutes, the weight of that thought hanging in the air.

House looked him directly in the eye and pursed his lips, silently agreeing. "What took you so long?" Wilson knew this was House's version of an apology, and he gratefully accepted it.

Wilson raised both his eyebrows, "You could have picked up a phone too, you know." He stared down at his hands and sighed, "I needed time to think," Wilson meet House's gaze and watched as House nodded silently before continuing. "I wanted to stop by a few days after you were home, but a certain administrator told me you weren't exactly in the best of moods. She suggested I wait until you came to your senses. After the phone call tonight, I decided if I waited that long, we'd both be dead and buried."

House chuckled again, shaking his head, "She slapped a nurse on me and she took my keys."

"I would have taken your keys too. So, was the nurse at least good looking?"

"If you consider a sixty year old, two hundred pound former shot putter a dream date, well then…"

Wilson grimaced, "Cuddy was worried about you."

"Yeah, well now it's my turn."

Wilson sat up straight in his chair, "Are my ears ringing? Did the greatest curmudgeon of all time just…no, it's not possible. Did you just admit concern for another human being?"

House pointed to his scalp, "Massive head injury; I'm not in my right mind. And actually, my ears are ringing, tinnitus; lovely souvenir courtesy of the seizure."

Wilson's face fell slightly, and with a month's worth of catching up to do, he said, "Tell me how you've been."

* * *

The two men walked in step with one another down the corridor at dawn, very much aware of the glances and whispers of the early morning staff members as they passed. The pair strolling together through the halls of PPTH was a sight not seen since before the accident.

"I feel like we're on parade," Wilson said, motioning his head towards several nurses at the end of the hall.

House held up his cane up diagonally, pumping it up and down as if leading a parade, "Oooh, I'll be Harold Hill and you can be Winthrop, unless you want to be Marian."

"Afraid I don't have a dress. There's always Marcellus."

"Nah, you're too thin."

Wilson shook his head, smiling, "I'll go check on the CT schedule."

House nodded, "Meet you in Shelob's lair."

"I thought we were in a boy's band, not stuck in a spider's web."

House pointed to his head, "Massive head injury, film metaphors tend to get mixed up."

Wilson smiled, "Well Frodo, I'll be back in time to save you from Shelob."

"See you there, Sam."

Wilson walked down towards the imaging room, and smiling inwardly, he whispered, "Well, I'm back."

* * *

"Are you in any pain?"

Cuddy shook her head and closed her eyes briefly, "No. What's in that IV?"

"Just a little bit of the good stuff."

"You gave me morphine?"

House rolled his eyes, "Maybe," in a mocking voice he said, "Do you know how many days this has taken off my life? A month at least."

Cuddy smiled at him, "Now you know how it feels."

"What were you doing at two in the morning?"

"I'll tell you later," she said, struggling to keep her eyes open. "Are you and Wilson talk…," Cuddy fell asleep before she could finish her question, the burst of morphine House administered having kicked in.

House looked down at her and nodded, "Thanks to you."

* * *

House sat with Cuddy for several hours, monitoring her vitals, her pain level and watching her sleep. He and Wilson took turns sleeping on the empty bed next to her. Around ten on Sunday morning, Wilson woke to find House asleep in the chair next to her, his feet propped up on Cuddy's bed.

He shook House's shoulder, "You look like hell." Wilson stood with his hands on his hips, looking down at House, "I've got a spare sweatshirt in my locker. Why don't you go shower and change? The CT should be available by the time you get back."

House pursed his lips, silently admitting he was exhausted and said, "When I come back, tell her to stop tapping on the glass."

"Huh?"

"Just tell her."

Despite being confused, Wilson agreed.

* * *

House returned freshly showered and found Cuddy awake, sitting up in her bed with Wilson at her bedside. On his way in, House stopped outside of the glass partition, slightly cupped his hands and placed them on either side of his face, palms facing in. He sucked in his cheeks to make a fish face and waved his hands a bit near his face.

Wilson looked over at Cuddy, "I think this is when I'm supposed to tell you to stop tapping the glass."

Cuddy began laughing, looked at Wilson, and smiled, "The two of you talking again is better than morphine."

Wilson looked down at his hands, and shook his head, "I can't lose him too. Took me a while to figure that one out."

"He may not say it, but he knows how much you've lost."

Wilson nodded, knowing her words were true. He half chuckled, "Look at him," Wilson pointed towards House, who stood arguing with a nurse just outside the door, trying to take a fistful of red suckers as the nurse tried to stop him, "He's always going to be House."

"And we're always going to love him for it."

"Sometimes I wonder if the feeling's mutual."

She watched Wilson for a moment, noting how tired he looked, "We don't get the big romantic gestures, or the kind words, the hugs or the praise from him. We get the real House; the one he doesn't show to anyone else. We get his smile, his fierce loyalty and once in great while, he lets his guard down and shows us just how deep his feelings run."

Wilson looked at her with admiration, "He's lucky to have you."

Cuddy grinned, "Try telling him that," Wilson returned her smile as she continued, "No matter what he says, or how asinine his behavior is, he's always here, Wilson." Cuddy paused, not sure if she should delve into the past, "He was at the funeral."

He looked at her puzzled, "I didn't see him."

"He sat in the back, didn't want to intrude. Kutner took him home immediately afterwards."

"I had no idea," Wilson whispered, gazing at his friend who continued to argue with the nurse in the hallway. He turned his attention back to Cuddy, "You should have heard him last night. He's never sounded so scared," Wilson shook his head, "When I didn't pick up, he threatened to take the damned bus and you know, I think he meant it."

Cuddy closed her eyes, "He probably would have."

House finally quit arguing with the nurse and walked into the room, carrying several suckers. He nodded at Wilson before looking up towards the television, "What is that?"

"America's Got Talent. I taped it the other night and thought Cuddy might enjoy it," Wilson said defensively.

"You keep a copy of America's Got Talent in your office?"

"So? You keep Prescription Passion in yours."

"They should rename it America's Got Delusions."

Wilson raised his eyebrows as he chuckled, silently admitting House might be right. "Is the imaging room free yet?" he asked.

House popped a sucker into his mouth, "Yep."

Wilson stood from the chair, "I'll grab a wheelchair," he said.

"Oh no you don't. You're staying," Cuddy weakly motioned for him sit down, "I have something to say and you're both going to hear it."

"Here it comes," House said, rolling his eyes in Wilson's direction. Wilson smiled.

Cuddy looked at them both, "If I had known that this is what it would take to get the two of you talking again, I would have smashed that light fixture a long time ago."

House placed his hand on his forehead and dragged it down the side of his face, "Well, thanks for your selfless contribution."

"Not funny," Wilson said, smile now missing.

"What were you doing at two in the morning?" House asked, sitting down on the edge of her bed. Wilson decided he wanted to hear the story too, and resumed his seat in the chair.

"I was angry, so I painted the guest room. I planned on finishing the room on Sunday, but I couldn't wait to see it finished; the last thing I had left to do was to re-hang the light fixture on the ceiling. I lost my balance, smashed the light and wound up here."

Cuddy stared at House and she clearly saw the guilty look he was trying so hard to hide. She reached for his hand, and to her surprise, he allowed her to hold him. She gave a little squeeze, saying, "This isn't your fault." House said nothing, but she could still see the lingering ravages of doubt etched on his face, "You made me angry enough to paint. That's it. I chose to hang that light fixture. I chose to do it when I was beyond tired. I chose to see what the room would look like finished. It was something I was looking forward to. Hanging that light had nothing to do with you; I wanted to see the room finished."

House nodded and watched as she shifted painfully, "I can up your pain meds," he said.

She shook her head, "Not yet."

"If you're in pain…"

"Not until after the CT." Cuddy turned her attention to Wilson, "Will you let my assistant know that I'm taking a few days off?"

"Cuddy," Wilson said, "Don't worry about this hospital. We'll take care of it."

"That's reassuring. If I left this hospital up to the two of you, there wouldn't be one to come back to." Cuddy yawned, growing more tired by the minute. Dr. Thompson in pediatrics is acting dean in my absence. He needs to be informed. Wilson, do me a favor."

"Sure, anything."

"House can't drive for another week, but he starts work...tomorrow? What day is it?" she shook her head, "He starts back on Monday."

"I'm perfectly fine," House grunted.

"Don't worry about it, I'll make sure he's here bright and early every day," Wilson said with a smile.

House looked at Cuddy, "This is your revenge, isn't it?"

She smiled, "Yep. I know the best way to get back at you is to make sure you're taken care of. Just call me the wicked witch of the west." Yawning, she looked at the men, "Let's get this over with, so I can go home."

* * *

"Give me that," House said, snatching the scan from Wilson. He scrutinized it meticulously.

Wilson helped Cuddy back into the wheelchair, "House, she's fine. Just a mild concussion."

House continued to study the scan carefully, not taking his eyes off of it. "You can never be too careful," he said, almost absentmindedly, "Wouldn't want anything to happen to our precious administrator here, now would we?"

"And apparently I'm not qualified to read a CT scan?"

"Wilson, we all know you're a brilliant oncologist, but this is a delicate matter. Can't risk a misdiagnosis. I'd hate to break in a new dean; took me years with this one."

Wilson looked at Cuddy and she returned his smile knowingly.

* * *

"Doctor Cuddy, it's good to have you back," a nurse said as Cuddy walked into the hospital nearly a week after her accident. She continued on to her office, waving and chatting briefly to several staff members along the way.

She draped her jacket on the hook inside her office, walked over to her desk and sat down in her chair. She swiveled from side to side a bit, unable to keep the smile from her face. It was good to be back. Cuddy brought her computer to life, thumbed through the dozen messages left to her by Dr. Thompson, her temporary replacement, and checked her phone messages. As she began to rifle through her emails, Cuddy was startled when a certain cane stomped on top of her desk.

She rolled her eyes, "House."

One corner of his mouth shot up in a wry smile as he leaned over her desk, overtly peering down her top, "Well, it's good to see the twins are back."

"My top's not that low."

"Only because you're trying to hide your sutures. Maybe I should check it again; make sure it's healing."

"You checked it last night. It's healing just fine," she said, smiling up at him. "You have clinic hours this afternoon."

House rolled his eyes, "You've been back for all of ten minutes and you're moaning about clinic hours already?"

"Admit it, you're glad I'm back."

House leaned over the desk so that he was nearly nose to nose with her, "Only because Thompson's a pansy."

She raised an eyebrow, "Why's that? Too afraid to put you in your place?"

"He was too easy, no challenge at all."

"So you do admit it."

"Admit what?"

"You missed me."

"How could I miss you? I saw you every day you were gone and you nagged me about clinic hours every chance you got."

"Come on, admit it."

He closed the last inch between the two of them, kissed her fully on the mouth and whispered, "Never." He stood back up, and before he turned to leave, House gave her one of his elusive, genuine smiles. And Cuddy's heart leapt.

Fin.


End file.
